


Five Cups of Coffee

by weakinteraction



Category: Line of Duty
Genre: Eye Trauma, Gen, Post-Season/Series 04, Torture, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-21 21:59:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14923586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weakinteraction/pseuds/weakinteraction
Summary: Kate is undercover on a new mission.  But the risks are higher than ever, and not only to her.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flowerdeluce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowerdeluce/gifts).



Steve stood in the underpass, the two coffees he was holding slowly cooling in their corrugated cardboard cups.

"We must stop meeting like this," came a voice from behind him.

Steve turned. "DS Finnimore," he said with a nod. Kate rolled her eyes at him insisting on using her latest cover identity, even here. "I don't know," he went on as he handed her a cup, "this place is starting to feel like a second home. I'm fairly sure that piece of graffiti is more valuable as a work of art than anything I've got on my walls."

Kate took a sip. "If we were going to move in here, we'd have to do something about the heating though." The summer night was muggy, but Steve remembered nights in the depth of winter when as they'd talked their exhaled breath had all but frozen in front of their faces.

It was a risk, Kate meeting him in the same place on different missions, but the great benefit of this underpass was that it was in one of the last remaining dead spots for CCTV in the city. Steve almost suspected that Hastings had one of the PCs on a permanent watch for proposals to fix that, so convenient had it become for AC-12's undercover operations.

If there were such proposals, at least some of them probably emanated from where Kate was now emplaced: the Central Forensic Data Analysis unit, set up in the last year or two in response to the overwhelming flood of computer-based evidence of one flavour or another. Kate's cover story was that she had undergone a traumatic experience in a previous posting and been given a relatively straightforward desk job was part of a phased return to work.

She'd been there for a week now; this was their first check-in. "So, what do you make of the place?" Steve asked.

"They _are_ absolutely swamped," Kate said. "Even with all the new staff. We knew that, but seeing it up close ..."

"Every suspect has a computer these days," Steve said. "Even the ones who haven't got their whole system encrypted have still got gigabytes of downloaded porn to sift through."

Kate snorted. "You'd know about that, would you?"

Steve attempted to adopt a more businesslike tone. "Let's move on, shall we?"

"We're the same rank now, Steve, you can't order me around."

"Kate ..."

"All right. First off, there are a huge number of civilian contractors among the specialists," Kate said. "I mean _huge_. Probably at least five for every actual copper."

"Forensics always has--"

"Not this many who've all been hired in a hurry to clear a backlog."

"At least they're working under direct supervision, rather than it being contracted out to labs," Steve said. They'd dealt with enough issues with other types of evidence going astray or being contaminated as a result of that. "So do you think some of the civvies might be involved?"

Kate shrugged. "Hard to tell. They could make significantly more money elsewhere with the skills they've got. So they probably do have integrity, if they've chosen to come and work in the unit in the first place."

"But on the other hand, it'd be much easier for a gang to sneak someone into the unit that way. Do you think the vetting was rushed?"

Kate gave him a look that suggested she didn't think much of the vetting processes at whatever speed they proceeded. "I don't know. It could be nothing. Things falling between the cracks would be an entirely natural consequence of the conditions they're working in. But those same conditions would make it easy to hide deliberate malpractice as an accident."

"Twelve collapsed prosecutions in two months all linked to the unit's work," Steve said, reminding her of what had triggered the investigation in the first place. "That _could_ just be rotten luck." He gave her a brief tap on the arm. "It's still early days, you'll figure it out. I'm sure you'll get some of them to open up."

"Sure, if I want to talk about competing data standards and 64-bit architecture," Kate said. "I think I might actually be beginning to understand what 64-bit architecture is, Steve. I might need something a bit stronger than this next time we meet." She took another swig from her coffee to emphasise the point.

"Duly noted."

Kate looked down at the floor for a moment, then back up at him. "There is one thing, though. One person, rather."

"Oh?"

"The DI."

"Skelton? She's got a good reputation," Steve said.

"She doesn't seem to like me much," Kate said. "It might be my backstory, I don't know, that she thinks I've been given a cushy number, or she resents that I got parachuted in over someone she'd rather have hired--"

"But?"

"Just a couple of comments she's made. Things about how good teams can't work without trust, that sort of thing." Kate bit her lip. "I almost wonder if she knows."

"That you're AC-12? We checked--"

"I dunno, Steve." Kate's tone was contemplative. "The more assignments I do, the more chance there is of running into someone who recognises me. Or knows someone socially who spots me and asks about a different name, or ..."

"I suppose you can't stay undercover forever," Steve said.

"Unless I go somewhere completely different," Kate pointed out. "I hear Devon's nice this time of year."

Steve laughed. "I bet there's a major problem with the local force turning a blind eye to sheep rustling on Exmoor."

Kate laughed along, then suddenly became serious. "You've seen the same reports about the drug gangs expanding into rural areas that I have."

"County lines," Steve said.

"There must be coppers turning a blind eye somewhere along the way," Kate said. "At best."

"But you're not really going to move away, are you?"

"I do enjoy undercover," Kate said. "And I'm not sure I imagine staying here forever. We always used to talk about moving to the country when-- Anyway, that was a long time ago." She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Don't worry, I'm not planning to break up our dream team yet."

"We are a good team, though, aren't we?" Steve said. "You're not actually thinking of moving away?"

"I don't know," Kate said. "Not any time soon, I guess. I see precious little enough of my son as it is ..."

Steve never knew what to say at times like this. He almost preferred it when Kate didn't talk about her life, but at the same time he knew it meant that she trusted him.

"So next week? Same time, same place?"

"It's a date," Kate said sarcastically.

"Stay safe, Kate," Steve said.

She nodded and turned away. "You too, mate."

He crumpled the coffee cup in his hand as he walked away.


	2. Chapter 2

A week later, Kate stood in the underpass, two cooling cups of coffee in her hands.

It was her turn to provide the refreshments this time. After their conversation last time, she had been tempted to add liqueur to them, see if Steve noticed.

But Steve was late, which was unlike him. Steve had many less than stellar qualities, but a lack of punctuality was not among them.

She paced slowly back and forth along the too-familiar walkway: the worn, urine-stained concrete pathway; the graffiti murals that marked the passage of time, slowly evolving as the kids who made them improved their skills and then suddenly changing completely if there was a shift in the territories of the gangs those kids belonged to; the flickering fluorescent lights that made everything look even more unappealing than it already was. Over her head, late night traffic was rushing on.

And still no Steve. She checked her phone: ten minutes late now and not even a message.

It took her a moment to remember what standard procedure was for a failed rendezvous, so seldom had it happened before.

She was supposed to wait no more than quarter of an hour, then return to her cover identity as though nothing had happened. It was only if two meetings in a row were missed with no contact from her handler that she should try to make contact herself.

But this didn't feel right. She tapped out a message: "You OK, mate?" and sent it to Steve.

Maybe he was driving and couldn't respond straight away, she told herself. There were roadworks everywhere at the moment, the council trying to get on top of the state of the roads while long days and good weather permitted.

Backlogs everywhere, she mused.

Or maybe he had been driving, and had got into an accident. Lord knew it was exactly the sort of idiotic situation he would get himself into.

She looked at her phone again. No reply, and now it was twenty minutes. She hesitated over the call button next to his name at the top of the screen.

No, she decided. She'd better head back. She'd hear from in the morning, she was sure.

She bolted down the cold coffee and walked back out onto the pavement.

"DS Finnimore!"

She recognised the voice instantly: DI Skelton, her immediate superior in the Data Analysis Unit. Her car was parked just a little way from the entrance to the underpass, and the window was open. Kate wondered how long she had been there.

She turned around, bent down to talk to Skelton through the open window. The car was her personal one, it looked like; there were none of the subtle giveaways of an unmarked police car. "Boss?" she said. "Were you following me?"

"I have a duty of care to my team," Skelton said.

"I'm off the clock, boss," Kate said. "Your concern is appreciated but with the greatest possible respect, what I do on my own time is outside the bounds of your duty of care."

"As long as it doesn't affect the rest of the team."

"Well, I promise you it won't."

"So can you explain what you're doing late at night in the middle of a dark zone?"

"You know about my ... trauma, right?" Kate said. "I have some ... my shrink calls them 'unhealthy coping mechanisms'. I like to meet man late at night for risky anonymous sex. In public."

Skelton snorted derisively. "You expect me to buy any of that?"

"I'm not proud of it but there it is."

"So you would deny that you were trying to meet your AC-12 contact?"

 _Shit_ , Kate thought. _Shit shit shit shit shit._ "Don't know what you're talking about, boss," she said. "Ay See ... twelve? Is that coppers who dodge parking tickets or something?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Kate," she said. "Get in the car."

"I'd rather not, to be honest, boss; I'm parked just down the road so I'll walk--"

"Get. In. The. Car."

Everything that happened next seemed to be happening at once, though Kate knew that on some level she must have been _responding_. She wouldn't have acted first. But everything was entirely subconscious, instinctive.

She was seeing Skelton reaching for the glove compartment, revealing the gun. She was yanking the car door open, grabbing Skelton's other arm and slamming the door shut on it. She was hearing Skelton's cursing yelps of pain. She was running down the road towards her own car. She was ducking as the bullets flew past. She was scrambling into the driver's seat and screeching off, getting onto the multiple lanes of the dual carriageway in the wrong direction.

It was only when she had lost Skelton that she calmed down enough to realise how lucky she had been.

And it was only as she was taking deep breaths, pulled over on the side of the road, that she remembered exactly what Skelton had said. "Trying to meet your AC-12 contact." _Trying_ to meet.

Skelton had known that Steve hadn't turned up.

She pulled out her phone and dialled Hastings's number, her thumbs twitching as she jabbed at the screen with them, so that she had to keep making corrections. Eventually, though, the phone was ringing.

And went on ringing. Each trilling sound the phone made stretched into subjective minutes, the gaps between them seemed to last into next week. Kate could recognise all too well the effects of the adrenaline still flooding her system after her escape, but knowing what was happening didn't change the experience one bit.

The phone finally stopped ringing. "Hastings," came a bleary voice.

It was only then that she realised she was phoning from the phone belonging to "DS Finnimore", so he wouldn't have seen on the screen who she was. "Boss, it's me."

"Kate?" She could almost hear that he had suddenly sat bolt upright in bed. If he was in bed; maybe he'd fallen asleep in front of the TV or something. "Kate, is your cover blown? Do you need to come in?"

"It's worse than that, boss," she said. "I think Steve's in trouble."


	3. Chapter 3

Steve came to. Everything was pain.

"There you are, sunshine." It was an older white man, crouched down in front of him; they'd tied him to a chair by his arms and legs, tight. Behind him, a young black man -- possibly still even a juvenile, legally speaking -- was trying to look intimidating. "Good of you to join us."

"A pleasure, I'm sure," Steve said.

"I'm sure you're wondering why you're here," he said.

"Not really," Steve said. "You're running scared because we're on to you."

He laughed, a big belly laugh that seemed like it would go on forever.

Steve took the opportunity to take in the surroundings, getting to grips with the wheres and whens before trying to tackle the hows and whys.

It looked like was in a disused industrial unit, looked like the sort of place that a small light industrial business would use. Maybe a carpenter selling bespoke furniture or something similar.

Judging by the bluish light creeping in through the high window, it was either late night or early morning. He'd been snatched on his way to meeting Kate, and he didn't think he'd been out for nearly a whole day.

Early morning, then. Had he been missed yet? He wouldn't be expected at work for another few hours, and no one would actually start to wonder where he was until he was more than an hour overdue. Even if Superintendent Hastings noticed that he was gone, it would be in the context of preparing a good bollocking for being late.

Except ... he'd been on his way to meet Kate when they'd snatched him. It had been sudden, as most violence was: he'd just got out of his car to go to meet Kate when they'd rushed him. They'd looked like a group of lads on a cheap night out, drinking from cans as they talked nonsense to each other. When in fact they must have been waiting, circling the area around the underpass waiting for him to arrive. They'd piled in on him, fists and feet and knees to the groin. His whole torso felt tender, his jaw ached where they'd stamped on his face while he lay on the ground. It felt as though he might have lost a filling; he jabbed at the hole with his tongue and confirmed it.

If Kate had followed the protocol she'd have taken no immediate action, just got back to her cover life and carried on with the job.

He hoped to God that she hadn't followed the protocol.

Eventually, the laughter stopped. He turned to the kid behind him, saying, "Did you hear that, TT? He thinks we're running scared!"

"Yeah, good one."

He turned back to Steve, the laughter suddenly over. He balled his hand into a fist and drew it back before punching Steve hard in the lower abdomen. Steve had just enough advance warning to tense his muscles, make the blow slightly less agonising. Then he leaned in close. "Do I look scared to you, copper?" he said, finishing the sentence by spitting right on his face.

"Yeah," said Steve. "You do."

"Well, it's you who should be scared," the kid -- TT, Steve remembered -- said.

Another fist, this time to his temple.

Steve blacked out again.

* * *

Steve came to, over and over again. They seemed to be enjoying torturing him. Occasionally, there were questions, but he began to think that they weren't the main point.

There was a lot of straightforward violence. It wasn't sudden, the way it had been when he'd been abducted. It was slow, drawn out, deliberate. And then there were the tools they found around the place and used on him; no vital organs, he noticed.

And then there was the car battery. They seemed fond of that one.

As he slipped in and out of consciousness, he kept hold of a few key ideas.

Idea number one: they were trying to keep him alive, even if there wasn't any specific information they wanted out of him right now.

Idea number two: the younger one was being trained up in this sort of work, he was fairly sure. Steve was a test subject for him to try things out on. Maybe there'd be a way to play them off against each other, somewhere along the line.

Idea number three: AC-12 would be coming for him.

Kate would have raised the alarm. She would be coming, with Hastings and a crowd of uniforms. They would be coming soon.

* * *

Steve came to. The pain was a constant now, factored into the equation at every stage.

He realised they were talking. Not shouting at him, just talking, to each other.

He let his head loll back down, kept his eyes closed.

"Why we gotta do this anyway? I say we just kill the runty little pig and be done with it." Steve could almost feel the nervous energy coursing through the younger one through the floor.

"We do what the boss says because we do what the boss says. So if the boss wants him alive, he stays alive. If we hear differently, don't worry, I'll let you off him if that's what you really want."

"I say we off him anyway. We tell the boss it was an accident. I'd believe us, the amount we're roughing him up."

"You want to go to jail?"

"So what, he hangs us out to dry and we go down for murdering a cop? Big deal. When I was inside, the cop killers were like fucking heroes to the rest of us."

"You were inside for three months. Only cop killers you saw were passing through on their way to court." Not a juvenile, then, Steve thought -- just young-looking. And acting. "I mean it, kid. You don't want to tangle with the boss."

"What do you mean, 'something worse'?"

"You know what happens if you go to prison for murder? Murdering a cop? You're a fucking hero to everyone inside. And you -- you could spin the Parole Board a story about your troubled youth and how prison had turned your life around and you'd be out in a few years, because if we can solve prison overcrowding by giving the deserving a second chance ..."

"What are you saying?"

"The boss is unhappy enough with you, you're not going away for murdering a cop. You'll get fitted up for murdering a kid. After ... you know."

"The boss can do that?"

"The boss can do anything he wants."

* * *

Steve came to. It was the kid, TT, talking to him this time.

"Here, copper, look," he said. "Brought you something."

It was a cup of coffee in a generic corrugated cardboard cup.

TT took the lid off, and Steve watched the steam rise from it. A part of his brain registered the entirely useless information that they must be close enough to a petrol station or somewhere similar that they'd got it and come back with it still piping hot, as though that would turn out to be a significant clue to his exact location later. "You want it?"

"I'm not going to tell you whatever it is you want to know for a sip of coffee," Steve said. "You really are pathetic."

"I _said_ , do you want it?"

"No," Steve said.

"Well, tough shit, you're getting it." And he threw the entire contents of the cup straight into Steve's face.

Steve yelled as the boiling hot liquid hit.


	4. Chapter 4

"DI Jane Skelton, I am arresting you under Section 26 of the Criminal Justice and Courts Act 2015 on suspicion of the abuse of the powers and privileges of a police officer. And that's just for starters," . "We'll get into the conspiracy to kidnapping and the ."

They had found her in the FDAU's central control room, deleting everything. A small part of Kate must have appreciated that in her line of work, she must have known that it wouldn't actually be effective. It was almost surprising that she hadn't found herself a magnet to wave over the hard drives.

"Caution her, Kate."

"I have the right to be questioned by an officer at least one rank--"

"Questioned, sure, and believe you me, it'll be me questioning you personally every step of the way. But the _caution_ can come from any officer."

Kate stepped up to Skelton, invading her personal space on purpose. As calmly as she could, but with a sense of grim satisfaction, she recited, "You do not have to say anything. But, it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence."

She nodded to the two uniform constables who had come along in the other car to take Skelton away.

"We have to find Steve," Kate said. "We need to question her now."

"She'll stall for time," Hastings said defeatedly. "We won't get a word out of her until she's got a lawyer, or a Federation rep at the very least. Do you think DS Arnott has that sort of time?"

"No," Kate said. "I'm not sure he does."

"Then let's get to work."

* * *

"The trouble is," Maneet said, putting a mug of coffee in front of each of Ted and Kate, "it was a CCTV dead spot."

"We know that, PC Bindra," Hastings said wearily.

"It is rather the point of us meeting there," Kate said.

"I know," Maneet said. "But if you talk sweetly to the ANPR systems they can show the time lapse between cars entering the area and leaving."

Hastings sat upright. "We know which is the assailants' car?"

Maneet flicked on the screen: a grainy black and white image of a Ford Focus with a '13 plate appeared. It appeared to be full of young males. And, Kate surmised, Steve in the boot.

She looked at the timestamp. She had just been pulling up herself on the other side of the underpass. Damn.

"You've tracked this car's subsequent movements?"

Maneet nodded. "It headed northwest at considerable speed -- whoever they stole it from is going to be getting some speeding tickets next week -- and disappeared into the industrial estates."

"Which have their own CCTV, right?" Kate said. "But we'd have to go to the individual--"

Maneet shook her head. "All linked up to our glorious new Forensic Data Analysis Unit. Part of the new initiative."

Kate and Hastings looked at each other. "We have to go back there."

The coffees lay abandoned on the table.

* * *

It was dawn by the time they reached the mostly abandoned industrial estate. Once they were, though, skidding tyre tracks in the gravel led them straight to the unit. There was no car there now, but there was every chance that Steve was still inside.

Kate was out of the car and running inside while Hastings was still switching off the ignition.

The unit had a small lobby and then big double doors leading to the inside. She heard voices from within.

"Move it!"

"Do we--"

"No, for fuck's sake, leave him!"

"You'll get yours, copper." And a spitting sound.

"NOW!"

"Armed police!" Kate shouted as she backed herself against the wall. "Surrender yourselves now!"

But when she burst through the double doors, the suspects were already running out of the back entrance. "Suspects on the move," she barked into her radio, "heading out of the rear of the building." There had been no time to establish a proper perimeter; rescuing Steve was too high a priority.

And there he was, in front of her, tied to a chair that had been knocked to the ground on its side. She quickly holstered her gun and ran over to him, shouting "We need a paramedic in here! Now!" as she went.

Steve was awake, barely. He was trying to blink but he couldn't; his eyelids had been burned. "Steve, oh, Steve. Hold on, we've got help coming." She looked around for something to cut loose his bonds.

Hastings was only a moment behind the paramedics. He turned away in horror and disgust when he saw what had happened to him.

Kate found some bolt cutters on a workbench and headed back to Steve. "Come on, mate," she said as she gently tugged on the cable ties he'd been bound with so that she could get the bolt cutters in. "We're going to get you out of here."


	5. Chapter 5

Steve came to. The pain was ... far away. He knew there was a lot of pain, but it was as though the Steve who was coming to was on a beach, and the waves were washing against the shore, and the Steve who knew about the pain, was screaming and shouting about it even, was a long way downwind, but all he could hear was muffled snatches and the long repeating roar of the morphine sea.

He opened his eyes, then realised they were already open, then realised he'd been bandaged up.

He remembered.

"Sergeant Arnott?" The voice sounds surprised, and comes with a vague impression of a shape somewhere off to his right. A nurse, maybe, in the middle of checking something on his chart or the drip he could feel the cannula for in his hand.

He nodded in response.

"It's all right, Sergeant Arnott," the nurse, or whoever it was, said. "Your colleagues were here earlier," the nurse said just before leaving. "They had to go. But they'll be back, I'm sure."

 _Kate and Ted,_ he thought. It would have been Kate and Ted. Ted and Kate. His colleagues, the nurse had called them. But they were his friends. He's not sure they know he thinks of them as his friends. But he doesn't have many friends, so he counts them.

And then, wondering whether Ted would be amused or angry that in this state he didn't think of him as "Superintendent Hastings", he drifted back into sleep.

* * *

Steve came to. The pain was still a long way away, but he could tell that it was gradually diminishing, between one waking and the next.

Another shape off to the side. But this one wasn't moving; it seemed to be in a chair. A slight snoring sound: whoever it was was asleep.

Kate, he decided. The only other person who might be sleeping in here would be Superintendent Hastings, and Steve was fairly sure that his snores wouldn't sound quite so melodious.

It's hard to tell for sure, but he had the impression that it was dark outside.

"Kate," he said, his voice cracking. "Kate, is that you?"

She startled awake. "Steve?"

"Kate," he said. "Can you take this bandage off my eyes?"

"I don't know," she said. "They didn't say--"

"Please, Kate," he said. "I want to know ... I want to know if I can still see. Or whether it's all just shapes."

"OK, mate, give me a second."

She fussed with it, but it must have been fastened too securely. She ended up settling for pushing it upwards away from his eyes.

The first thing he saw was her flinching at the sight of his face. But, at least he could see.

"They say you'll make a full recovery," she said. "You might need some ... grafts, but only minor ones."

"OK," he said. "OK." He turned away to look at the wall, the irregular pattern that the lights of the hotel on the other side of the canal made through the blinds easier to handle than the pitying expression Kate was wearing.

"I don't suppose it's worth asking how you're feeling."

Steve tried a bitter laugh, but that hurt. "I've been better," he said.

"The boss is here, too," Kate said. "He'll be back in a minute."

"How late is it?" Steve asked.

"Late. But they said you were probably going to wake up soon, so we decided to wait."

"Listen, Kate--"

But before he could say what he wanted to say, Hastings came in, carrying two small corrugated cardboard cups. "This looks more like oil to me," he said to Kate. "But it's what the machine gave me when I pressed the coffee button."

Steve was barely aware that he was reacting until it was all over. His heart was hammering in his chest, he suddenly felt cold and clammy and most of all he needed to get out of there; he tried to get out of the bed but the sheets were too tight around him; he thrashed inside them, reaching for the cannula with his other hand to try to rip out the drip--

"Steve," Kate was saying, holding on to his arms, pinning him down as gently as she could. "Steve. It's OK, mate, you're safe. You're in the hospital. We're here. Breathe. Deep breaths. There we go. Deep breaths."

"Oh, Jesus," Hastings said, looking down at his coffee cup. He picked up Kate's cup as well and took them both outside. A moment later, after the sound of them thudding into a bin, he was back. "Sorry, son, I should have thought--"

"That's all right, boss," Steve said. "I think they might still have me on nil by mouth."

Kate tried a grin but Hastings looked worried at him trying to make light. "We'll get you-- You'll get the help you need, son."

"I know, boss," Steve said. "But we need to get back to work."

"You need some serious rest and recuperation," Hastings said. "For your physical injuries, let alone ..."

"Thanks for rescuing me," Steve said, meaning, _Thanks for everything._

"It's a good thing we found you when we did," Kate said. "I don't think you could have taken much more of that treatment."

Hastings smiled. "Ah, Steve's a tough one, aren't you, son?" But Steve knew that Kate was right. It had been different this time.

"I'm sorry you had to blow your cover," Steve said to Kate after a while.

"But we got them, Steve," Kate said. "That's the main thing. Both the guys who had you; they'll be going away for a long time. And Skelton's going to give us the names of all the people under her who were in on her scheme, in exchange for us only going after specimen charges rather than throwing the whole lot at her. It's over."

"No," Steve said firmly.

"Son--" Hastings began, but Steve cut him off.

"I realised--" His throat was still dry and his voice cracks. "When they thought I was out of it, they would talk to each other. So I started faking it. Keeping my eyes closed when I'd woken up."

"That would have been a natural enough thing to do in the circumstances, anyway," Kate said. "Trust you to make it an undercover operation."

"Can't stand you being the only one, can he?" Hastings said.

"Listen," Steve said, almost a hiss. "There was someone they were scared of. I don't think it was Skelton. Someone who could fit them up for worse crimes if they pissed them off."

Kate leaned forward, all attention. "You think it's someone in the police? Blackmailing them?"

"It would fit, wouldn't it? All the trouble we've been having." He exchanged a significant look with Kate: they were no closer than they had been to figuring out who "H" was, and one of the possibilities was right there in the room with them.

"Well, when you're better you can write it all up," Hastings said. "And we'll see whether it fits in with any ongoing investigations."

"Boss, I'm ready to--"

"For once in your life will you take an order and _rest_ , Sergeant Arnott?" Hastings's tone softened. "If you're right -- and I'm not saying you are, not yet -- then when you come back you're going to need to be fighting fit. All your wits about you. So _rest_ , until you're ready."

"OK, boss," he said.

"Come on, Kate, let's leave him to sleep."

As he drifted away again on the morphine tide, Steve found himself picking it all over. He wanted to believe in Hastings's integrity. He wanted to believe that there was no way the person who was so obviously concerned about his welfare could have been the one who ordered those things done to him. But was his concern that Steve should rest just about his wellbeing, or to give him time to bury the evidence?

Only time would tell.


End file.
